


Forever I'll be second in line

by rickyisms



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (more like traumatized), Gen, NHL Entry Draft, Sad Kent "Parse" Parson, can be read as beginning parswoops if you rlly want, mentions of Jack's OD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26967937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rickyisms/pseuds/rickyisms
Summary: Last night, Jack Zimmermann overdosed. Today, Kent Parson is going to go first overall.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	Forever I'll be second in line

**Author's Note:**

> title is from next up forever by ajr

Sweat. That’s all Kent can feel right now. Sweat on his hands, sweat at the back of his neck dripping down his back. Sweat inside of his dress shirt, under his armpits. His forehead is sweaty, it drips down his brow, and over his eyes. He won’t wipe it away because someone might think he’s crying. He won’t cry, he won’t give anyone the satisfaction of thinking he’s crying. 

“Are you excited honey?” his mom squeezes his hand. 

Kent has to look down at his mom. He’s not tall for a hockey player, but he’s been taller than his mom since he was 12. He wishes he could still hide behind her legs. There’s no one to hide behind today. 

They’re not allowed to ask him about Jack. They make reference to it, he hears some people buzzing about it around the convention centre, but no one says anything to him. Not even his mom, not his step-dad. There’s a trio of hired seat fillers sitting in front of the Parson-Rivera family. It’s where the Zimmermanns were supposed to sit. There were a lot of things that were  _ supposed  _ to happen today that won’t. For one, Jack was supposed to be here. Jack’s parents were supposed to be here. Jack and Kent were supposed to find somewhere in the convention centre where no one would find them because Jack would have freaked out whether he was supposed to or not.Kent could have held his hand or he could have just stood there standing guard. He might have even kissed him, if the spot they found was secret enough, because that always calms Jack down. 

The commissioner is on stage, welcoming everyone to Montreal. Kent looks down at the draft floor. It’s a sea of tables, one for each NHL team. There are men in suits swarming, they hover at one another’s tables, make phone calls to people in the same building as them. Kent hears the commissioner say, “the Las Vegas Aces are now on the clock.”

He swallows hard. His mom’s hand is on top of his but he can’t really feel it. There’s still a part of him that feels like they’re going to call Jack’s name. That he might appear in the seats in front of him and take his rightful place at number one. 

_ Don’t worry about Jack,  _ Bob’s voice echoes in his head. Kent remembers the feeling of his hand on his shoulder. He remembers Alicia driving him to his hotel, telling him they’d call. They’ll call. 

_ Don’t worry about Jack, try and enjoy your day _

It was supposed to be their day. The last day together. The last day as dumb teenagers, just a couple weeks before Kent’s 18th birthday, a couple months before Jack’s. 

He knows he should stop thinking about Jack, there’s nothing he can do now. Because Jack’s safe, he has his family and he has doctors and he’s stable. But you can’t find your best friend lying in your hotel bed, unresponsive and blue and  _ not  _ think about that the next day.

His mom puts her head on his shoulder and wraps her arm around his shoulder. It pulls him back to the moment. 

He loves his mom and this is the first time he’s seen her in months. He decided to stay in Montreal with the Zimmermanns rather than go back home to New York State. She understood. They haven’t had the Jack talk yet. There’s a kid from the Moosejaw Warriors sitting across the aisle from him, he was projected to go third to Florida before last night. Kent things about how everyone’s plans have changed since last night. Kent wonders if that kid got a phone call or if he had to find out by turning on ESPN. He wonders if he had already envisioned his life in Florida. Kent had certainly already thought about what it was going to be like to end up in Montreal for at least the next four years. 

He sees someone shuffling at the Aces. He’s cold all of a sudden, less sweaty, which is more alarming than when he’d been dripping sweat. There’s still a minute left on the clock. Kent expects they’ll run it until the very end, they always do for the first pick. Kent grew up watching this whole thing on TV, he knows exactly how it’s supposed to go. He knows that it’s his name they’re about to call, but he’s running a scenario in his head where the kid from Moosejaw gets called first, maybe they don’t want Kent with all the baggage he has now, it’d be smarter. Kent thinks it’d be smarter. 

He looks over at his mom. She’s always hated how much he doesn’t look like her, they have the same nose, but that’s it. Emilie McNamara-Rivera worked her ass off to get Kent Parson on the ice every winter and she did it without any help the first few years. People started to give him things once they noticed how good he was, but those first few years of peewee, they were all overtime, all extra shifts. 

Fuck. This is how he’s going to repay her. This is how he has to repay her. He’s going to sign his ELC, and then he’s going to hit all of his schedule A bonuses, then he’s going to buy her a new car. And he’ll pay off her student loans and he’ll open an education fund for his little half-sister and he’s going to fix everything. That was always the plan. The plan was to do all that from Montreal, but he’ll make Vegas work. 

“The Las Vegas Aces will not take a timeout,” the commissioner says into the microphone. 

Kent Parson was always Kenny Parson. Little Kenny Parson was always running around. He was happy, genuinely, joyfully happy. He loved being part of a team more than anything else, he was captain of three in his first two years of high school, before he left for Rimouski. He captained the soccer team, the hockey team and the badminton team, he played a season of volleyball in middle school, tried football for a season but he was too small and not fast enough yet. He loved hockey more than anything, everyone knew that about little Kenny Parson. 

Kent recognizes the owner and the General Manager of the Aces walking up to the microphone. He saw them just a couple weeks ago, at his draft interview. They had asked him what kind of watch he was wearing. He stuttered out that it used to be his dads. They asked how his dad was doing and Kent had to be honest and say he didn’t know, he hadn’t seen his dad since he was 7. 

The general manager taps the microphone. 

“We’re very happy to be selecting first overall,” the GM says

When Kenny Parson was 15, the Rimouski Oceanic took him 13th overall in the QMJHL draft. They had taken a boy named Jack Zimmermann first overall, the son of hockey royalty, Bad Bob Zimmermann’s son. They both got phone calls from the team manager, the QMJHL draft isn’t the same as the NHL draft. Kent had an agent by the time he was 15, he remembers sitting in his dining room with his mom, holding her hand on top of the table, waiting silently until the phone rang. 13th overall. To a good team, far away. They cried together. Kenny Parson moved away from home that August. 

Every member of Aces management is wearing a black suit jacket with a red tie, team colours. Kent guesses they planned it. 

When Kenny Parson first met Jack Zimmermann he thought he was kind of a dick. When Kenny Parson got put on a line with Jack Zimmermann, it was like magic and he was pissed about it. The first time Kenny Parson thought he might be friends with Jack Zimmermann was when Zimmermann had a panic attack in the dressing room after a game and Kent just held his hand because he didn’t know what to do. The first time Kenny Parson thought he might be in love with Jack Zimmermann, he was kissing the taste of blue jolly ranchers off of his tongue and Zimms just went quiet and brushed Kenny’s cowlick out of his face. Kent’s heart flipped over in his chest.

“We would, of course, like to first thank the city of Montreal for putting on the draft this year, you’ve been wonderful hosts.”

Bad Bob Zimmermann taught Kenny Parson how to do a perfect toe drag. That was the coolest god damn day of Kenny Parson’s life, when Bad Bob Zimmermann looked him in the eye and clapped him on the shoulder and told him, “I think you’ve got it just about perfect, kiddo.” Jack didn’t talk to him for the entire drive home. It took Kenny Parson a while to figure out Jack’s prolonged silences, eventually he figured out that if he just kept talking, if he just kept grinning and chirping and joking, Jack would eventually come back. 

“And before we make our pick, we want to shout out all our fans at the watch party back in Las Vegas, we want you all to know that the moves we’re making today will ensure we continue on our path as the most successful expansion team in NHL history,”

Kent tries not to laugh bitterly. No pressure there. Damn. 

No look, straight pass. He always knew where Jack was on the ice, one timer, it hardly ever failed. They talked about the draft for almost the entirety of their last season. First with excitement and anticipation. Then with dread as they realized they couldn’t possibly stay together through it. Jack always thought that Kenny was afraid because it meant they couldn’t be like,  _ together  _ together, so he promised to call every day and hang out every time their teams played each other. It was a little bit that, but mostly Kenny Parson was scared he wasn’t as good. Scared that playing with Jack made his ego too big, made him expect too much. It never even occurred to him that Jack was scared too. 

“With the first pick in the NHL entry draft,” Vegas’ GM clears his throat for emphasis, “From the Rimouski Oceanic…”

Jack was supposed to sit in front of Kent and his mom and step-dad. Jack’s name was supposed to get called, just now. That was supposed to be the lead-up to his name. 

“Kent Parson.”

The convention centre erupts into cheers, the seat fillers in front of him applaud and he’s standing without really telling his legs to do that. He leans down to hug his mom and he smiles. He smiles and he really means it and that feels wrong considering that this was supposed to be Jack’s moment. He was supposed to reach forward and pat Jack on the shoulder and give him a reassuring look as he walked down the steps towards the stage, maybe even a quick hug. Alicia and Bob were supposed to look back and shake Kent’s hand when he went second. 

But Kent goes first. He doesn’t know the people sitting in front of him. He smiles though. After a lifetime of waiting for this, he doesn’t think he could  _ not  _ smile. 

Kenny Parson didn’t go to his high school graduation. They’re going to mail his certificate to his mom’s house. He’s smart enough to realize that he wouldn’t have graduated if he hadn’t played hockey, he hasn’t done homework since tenth grade. 

His mom pats him on the back. She got a manicure before today, red. Kent wonders if she picked that colour on purpose. He feels like he floats down the stairs. He’s got tunnel vision, his ears are ringing as he walks across the draft floor. There’s a little kid standing just before the stage, he holds his hand out and Kent hands his suit jacket to him. Someone hands him a hat. Out of habit, Kent starts to put it on backwards. He quickly course corrects and puts it on. He wishes he could see how his hair looks, probably bad, he’s guessing bad. No one looks good in their draft pictures. 

Kent walks up the three steps, to the stage. Kenny Parson didn’t go to his high school graduation, but this is close enough. It means the same thing. 

There’s a hand reaching out to shake his, Kent remembers his firm handshake and he smiles. 

“Congratulations,” one of them says. 

“Thank you,” Kent says in return. 

“Glad to have you.”

There’s an arm around his shoulder, a hand resting on his upper back and he’s smiling at the cameras. His jersey has his name on the back. Parson, 90. They even bothered cresting his number on. He wonders if this is the same one they were going to give Jack, if someone had to take a seam ripper to it and sew his name on, or if in a dumpster somewhere outside the Bell Centre, there’s a jersey that says  _ Zimmermann _ on the back. 

They had talked about postponing the draft this morning. A couple days, to give everyone time to process. That’s what you do when your top prospect swallows some benzos and nearly dies, right? No one knew what to do, it had never happened before. It was a phone call to Bob Zimmermann that decided it,  _ “don’t make Kenny wait any longer, don’t torture him even more,”  _ Kent won’t find out that Bob said that for years. 

There are black spots floating around his vision, his phone is buzzing in his pocket, texts rolling in, friends, family, future teammates probably. Not Jack. Jack is still asleep. He has to stop thinking about Jack. 

They’re taking him off the stage. Someone’s talking into a cell phone, she introduces herself to Kent. He’s pretty sure she’s a producer, he wasn’t really listening. But he follows her, still a little shell shocked. 

“My mom,” Kent says, “Can you bring her back here when you have a second? Or get someone else to.”

The producer nods, “Of course Mr. Parson.”

He’s 17 years old, no one should call him Mr. Parson. 

“Kent,” he says, “Please.”

“Of course, Kent,” she smiles, it’s warm. Everyone’s warm around him. He’s good at getting people to like him. 

It’s the first time he’s introduced himself without adding, _ “But you can call me Kenny,”  _ at the end. 

He gets lead up some stairs, she points to a bundle of wires on the ground, tells him not to trip. 

“Kent Parson?” Someone else is shaking his hand. 

“You’ll do a hit with NHLtv, it’ll be on TSN, Sportsnet, ESPN and NBC, it’ll save you from having to do all four interviews,” the producer says. 

The anchor, a 50 something year old ex-NHLer walks over and shakes Kent’s hand. He wonders if people are going to think he’s nervous with all the hands he’s shook today. No matter how many times he wipes his hands on his pants, they just keep getting clammy. 

“It’s good to meet you kid, I’ve seen you play. Something special,” the anchor says. 

How much of that something special actually belongs to Kent? Does it continue into the NHL? 

They turn on the cameras, and Kent smiles. 

“Well, Kent, you’re officially a Las Vegas Ace, what’s going through your mind.’

Kent takes a deep breath, “Wow,” he says, “Just wow,” Kent says, “I’m glad to have my family here, my mom, my dad,” he deliberately doesn’t stay step-dad. The NHL doesn’t like step-dads, it’s the dumbest thing in the world to care about, “There’s a lot more people I have to thank but yeah, it’s just great. No words”

“What’d your mom say to you? When you got that hug? What’s that feel like?” the anchor asks. 

“It’s the best feeling,” Kent says, “For them to be here is just amazing. My mom always worked hard for me to be able to play hockey and I hope this proves all the hard work was worth it.”

“I’m sure it will be,” the anchor says, “Going into such a new NHL team, the Aces are expanding, they’re growing, they didn’t have a great season last year, what are you expecting?”

“All I can do is give it my all, you know? Every team I’ve ever been on, I’ve played my hardest, I like to win. I hope we can win.”

“Thank you so much for your time, Kent,” the anchor says to him again. 

Kent stands up, he smiles. He sees his mom standing a few feet away. She hugs him again. 

“I’m so proud of you, Kenny.”

Jack and Kenny stayed in the same hotel last night. Kenny left his room abandoned to share with Jack one last time. One last night together before everything changed. Kenny was having a good time. They went to the SAQ and Jack used his fake ID and they bought two bottles of champagne and they sat on the floor of the hotel room. The sun hadn’t even gone down yet. Kenny had his legs kicked out in front of him, leaning back, champagne glass in his hand. He watched Jack take a pill. He wasn’t supposed to take them with alcohol, but it was never the end of the world when he did, he just got drunk a little faster than usual. They were sitting in the sunlight, still streaming in through the windows as the sun set. 

Kent’s mom slips her hand into his. No one’s talking about Jack. They must have instructions not to talk about Jack near him. He can imagine someone, somewhere is talking about Jack. An analyst on TV, a pundit or another draft pick. But they won’t talk about Jack around him. 

Jack’s hair was so dark, it always had been, for as long as they’d known each other. But it was always darker when it was wet and Jack had just gotten out of the shower. 

“Kent Parson? We need you for your draft photos.”

Jack’s eyes were so fucking blue. Kent remembers this very clearly because he couldn’t stop staring into them. They were drunk and Kent was holding his hands. 

Kent steps forwards. They’re leading him down the hallway to an empty room where he’ll take some photos that might come back to haunt him in 10 years. 

He remembers the way Jack’s eyes looked. So wide and big and Kent doesn’t know if he’s projecting, because he knows what happened 45 minutes later, but he looked so scared, so overwhelmed. 

Someone takes the hat off of Kent. They hand him a hockey stick and a pair of gloves in Aces colours. 

Kenny had kissed Jack a bunch. Softly and gently sometimes, so hard that it was almost bruising other times. 

“Alright, just lean on the top of the stick and smile real big for me, okay?”

Kent follows the instructions, he hears the clicking of the camera. 

The champagne tickled his nose, but Jack seemed to like it. His parents had always been liberal about alcohol, most people in Quebec are. Kenny always got offered a glass of red or white with dinner at the Zimmermanns and when they won the memorial cup, the Zimmermanns had opened a bottle of champagne. It only made sense that they opened a new one last night. 

“Alright, have you met Jeff?” The photographer asks. 

“Huh?” Kent says, his attention snaps to the man’s face. 

“Hey,” a new voice says, “I’m Jeff,” the guy says. He looks Kent’s age, tall, dark hair, broad shoulders and an easy smile. 

He’s wearing an Aces jersey, it doesn’t have his name on it, just the draft year on the back. No one above the top three ever gets a jersey with their name on it. 

“Good to meet you, man,” the guy says. 

Kent shakes his hand. He notices that Jeff’s hands are as sweaty as his own. 

“Alright can you boys stand back to back?” the photographer asks. 

Jeff follows instructions as well as Kent does. 

They were drinking champagne out of red solo cups. 

“Aw Kenny. It’s all so much,” Jack had said. His accent always came out so much stronger when he was drinking. 

“Shh, Zimms, we don’t need to worry about that.”

“How can you be so casual about this all. Our lives change forever.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it,” Kenny said , “We knew, for a long time we knew.”

Jack had kissed Kenny’s cheek. 

“We need more ice,” Jack said. 

“I’ll go get some,” Kenny said, “Try and relax, okay?” Kenny ruffled Jack’s hair as he stood up, Jack ducked down and smiled softly, fondly. Kenny grabbed the ice bucket. 

“Should we do like a silly one?” Jeff asks. 

“Sure, go for it,” the photographer says. 

Jeff holds his hockey stick out like a sword, Kent laughs and follows suit. The photographer snaps a few photos.

“Can we get one of just Kent?” The photographer asks.

“Totally,” Jeff says, still cheerful. 

“Can we get you to hold up your index finger, for first overall.”

The ringing in Kent’s ears comes back. He should be holding up number two. 

Kenny filled the ice bucket halfway, they wouldn’t use a whole bucket of ice that night. It sucked. Really hard. It’ll hurt, but they’ll call every day. This is their dream, their shared dream. Hockey. Kenny loves hockey more than anything in the world, his first best friend included. Kenny just wants to play hockey. Kenny can’t wait for both of them to get to play hockey, for as long as they can. 

Kenny walked down the hallway with the ice bucket in his hand. He pushed open the door. 

“Alright Zimms, let’s open the second bottle I’ve got-”

Kent remembers dropping the ice bucket, the sound the ice cubes made as they hit the floor.The bathroom door was propped open. Kenny dropped to his knees. Kenny His hand fell on Jack’s shoulder. 

“Zimms,” he croaked out. 

Jack’s pills were on the floor, only a couple, the rest were missing. Jack’s lips were blue. 

“Jack,” Kenny said, Kent remember feeling like he was begging. 

“Alright, Kent, big smile!” The photographer says, “Alright a little bigger.”

Kenny’s hands shook, dialling 911, he wheezed out an explanation, a “please hurry.”

“Okay can I get you to tilt your head slightly to the left, it’ll feel a little strange but I promise it looks good on camera,” the photographer says. 

Kent follows instructions. Smiling this big makes his face hurt. 

Jack’s hand was cold when Kenny grabbed on to it, held it until the paramedics got there, cried like a baby. 

Kent’s breathing heavy, the ringing in his ears is loud. The photographer looks at him expectantly. 

“Sorry, what?” Kent says. 

“Would you turn to the left a little.”

Kent takes a breath. 

He looks over at Jeff.  _ Help Me,  _ he doesn’t know this guy. And yet, he’s begging,  _ give me an out. Please.  _

“Can we take five?” Jeff asks, “I’ve really gotta use the bathroom, sorry,” he says. 

“Actually, me too, where’s the bathroom?” Kent says. He hopes it’s not evident how much he’s breathing. 

The photographer nods, “Yeah, just out in the hall, bathroom’s at the end.”

Kenny had to call the Zimmermanns. What a call to make, “hey, your son, who i’m pretty sure you know I’ve been sleeping with this whole time, yeah he overdosed, also I was drunk, but don’t worry, I’m sober now, nothing savers you up like a suicide attempt.”

Jeff walks down the hallway in front of Kent, he stops just short of the bathroom.

“I can wait out here if you need a minute,” Jeff says, “I do kind of have to go to the bathroom though.”

Kent shrugs, pushes the door open. He runs his hands under the cold water. Then he climbs up onto the sink. Pulls his knees close to his chest. He’s not paying attention to Jeff. 

“Thank you, Kenny. We’ll call okay, we have a lot to sort out, try and get some sleep,” Alicia had hugged Kenny. 

“Good luck, Kent,” Bob said. 

When Kent left the hospital, it wasn’t even dark yet. Jack’s overdose made the 9 pm sports desk reports. They had decided not to postpone the draft by midnight, Jack’s parents had decided to pull out at 11. And Kent took two sleeping pills and went to bed at 2. There was a suit hanging in his closet. His mother would be there in the morning.

Kent breathes in, over and over again, when he breathes out, it comes out as a sob. He’s held Jack’s hand through enough panic attacks to know that he’s having one of his own. Edges of his vision going blurry, tunnel vision kicking in  _ hard.  _

He feels something cool in his hand he looks down.He’s holding a water bottle. Jeff’s standing next to him now, Kent assumes he’s the one who handed him the water bottle. 

He manages to exhale without sobbing as he opens the bottle. He gulps it all down and his vision starts to come back slowly. Jeff comes into focus. 

“I can’t believe they made you do this,” Jeff says, shaking his head. 

Kent laughs bitterly, “Show must go on.”

Jeff shakes his head, “S’fucked up.”

Kent takes a long deep breath in, a shaky short breath out. 

“Yeah,” he says, “It is.”

“I don’t know you super well, but like, I’ve got your back now, if you need it,” Jeff says. 

“Thank you,” Kent says, eyes squeezed shut. 

Jeff nods. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Jeff says. 

“It wasn’t…” Kent starts, “I’m not the one in the hospital.”

“You were there,” Jeff says. 

Kent takes one more breath. He slides down off the counter and jumps up, “Photos,” Kent says. 

Jeff looks at him a little quizzically but he says. 

“Yeah, alright, let’s go, if you’re ready.”

Kent doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready. But Jeff Troy’s standing next to him, and that makes it suck just a little bit less. Jeff went 13th overall. Thank god for that stupid fucking pick.

Kenny Parson went to sleep in that hotel room in Montreal, but Kent Parson woke up. Kent Parson’s the one who cries in the bathroom at the Bell Centre and he’s the one who slaps a smile back on his face and soaks up all the attention. He even manages to like it, manages to have a good time, it makes it easier. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> as always i have not proofread this, i just word barfed into a google doc and now it's here, so enjoy. Comments are cool if you are so inclined.


End file.
